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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491441">Make My Wish Come True</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seadeepy/pseuds/seadeepy'>seadeepy</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Prompt Fills [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas, Christmas Presents, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Holidays, M/M, Mutual Pining, POV Patrick Brewer, Prompt Fill</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:48:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,981</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28491441</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seadeepy/pseuds/seadeepy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Patrick shows his feelings with the perfect holiday gift.</p><p>OR: Months after opening the Rose Apothecary together, Patrick still hasn't confessed to his crush on his business partner. Could Christmas provide the opportunity he needs to overcome his anxiety and find out if David reciprocates?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek Prompt Fills [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903411</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>201</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Make My Wish Come True</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMelancholyVegetable/gifts">TheMelancholyVegetable</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I picked up this prompt like two full months ago, and I've been determined to finish it no matter how long it took! If I publish before Epiphany, it still counts as a Christmas fic, right? I've actually never written getting together/first kiss content before, so this was a new experience for me!</p><p>Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this fic, and I wish you all Happy Holidays and a lovely 2021 &lt;3</p><p>Title is from "All I Want For Christmas Is You" by Mariah Carey, of course.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All that teasing about sloppy mouths and semi-firm openings is months in the past, along with a birthday dinner that could have gone somewhere and never did. Patrick would like to say that the air doesn't sizzle anymore when he's near David — that he's settled into a calmer camaraderie, a more settled dynamic with the dark-haired, bold-browed man he has a hopeless crush on. But it wouldn't be true. It has been nearly six months since they opened Rose Apothecary together, and Patrick's heart still pounds at every scrunched-up, lopsided smile David gives him. Patrick's eyes still linger on the tantalizing curve of David's lips and the flashing metal of the silver rings on those beautiful hands.</p><p>Sometimes it seems like every day in Schitt's Creek is warm and sunny, but the perfect summer weather doesn't last. As the weeks creep toward the end of November, rain clouds darken the endless expanses of sky, and chill winds whip across the lazy fields of grass on the outskirts of town. Patrick swaps out his baby-blue button-ups for soft pullover sweaters, and watches with amusement as David's fashion choices somehow, impossibly, manifest even more layers. The store does a brisk business in local apple cider — non-alcoholic, David is quick to point out, muttering something about bingo that Patrick is too confused to follow up on.</p><p>It is a comfortable, profitable time for the store, and if Patrick only wanted to stay business partners with David, life would be perfect. The Patrick of a few years ago, with a stable job and a perpetual girlfriend-turned-fiancée, might have been happy. But ever since the day Patrick upended his life and fled to this town with little more than a battered guitar case and a gnawing, empty aching in his chest, he has made a commitment to be more honest with himself. Even when he struggles to speak his more intimate feelings out loud. And the truth is this: he wants to kiss David Rose, and it doesn't seem like that desire will subside any time soon.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>"I told her," David says as he manhandles the door to Rose Apothecary closed behind him, "that I didn't need any of her stupid magazine tips, but she forced me to take the whole quiz anyway."</p><p>By now, Patrick is used to splashing into conversations with David midstream. He's even gotten pretty good at guessing context simply from the particular slant of David's eyebrows. This is David's Alexis face, that unique mixture of irritation and affection that characterizes every sniping, bickering interaction between the two.</p><p>"Good morning, David," Patrick says with a smile. "What did the quiz tell you?"</p><p>David rolls his eyes, removing his elliptical white sunglasses. "That I would be happiest with, and I quote, someone thoughtful and affectionate."</p><p>"You're right," Patrick says solemnly. "That does sound like it would be terrible."</p><p>David glares at him. "I just mean that those are," he waves his hands, "completely meaningless words. Generic. That's what they are. Like the knock-off brand of conditioner people use cause it's cheaper and then it strips their hair like paint thinner."</p><p>Despite his best efforts, Patrick has fallen a few steps behind — mostly because he can't share his first thought, which was how he, Patrick, could be those things. To David. If David wanted him to be.</p><p>He frowns slightly. "Conditioner is thoughtful and affectionate?"</p><p>"It's a metaphor," David says loftily, and sails past Patrick to deposit his leather bag in the back room.</p><p>All in all, not even in the top ten of the most confusing conversations he's had with David Rose.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Patrick perches on the side of the bed in his room at Ray's, balancing his guitar between his elbow and his knee. He is scrolling through the various playlists he's saved to Spotify, deep in thought, so when his phone vibrates in his hand, he nearly chucks it across the room in his surprise.</p><p>It's David, of course. <b>The cafe has put up these obnoxious blinking lights,</b> his text reads. <b>And Twyla is wearing a headband with REINDEER ANTLERS on it.</b></p><p>Patrick is glad there is nobody to see him as he smiles down at his phone, grinning like an idiot. He can just picture the full-body shudder David cannot translate into text, and the accompanying grimace.</p><p>But Patrick also sees an opportunity here, to gather information that will help him with the current dilemma he is facing. He writes back, <b>What about their soundtrack? The same five Christmas songs on repeat, or have they branched out into new-wave alternative Christmas music?</b></p><p>David's reply is near-instantaneous. <b>That's a genre????</b> Followed shortly by, <b>No wait don't tell me, I don't want to know.</b></p><p><b>I have some ideas for our own music in the store,</b> Patrick texts back, knowing it is a sure-fire way to get David riled.</p><p><b>The only appropriate Christmas music,</b> David writes, <b>is AIWFCIY by Mariah. Anything else is simply incorrect.</b></p><p>Patrick stares at the acronym for a moment, tapping his finger on the side of his phone's sturdy plastic case. He opens up his Notes app and types "Mariah Carey" onto a list he's been keeping for several weeks now. Then he sets his phone down and bends over the guitar again, placing his fingers on the frets and taking a slow breath in.</p><p>For a while he just fools around, fumbling his way through half-remembered chords and humming snatches of tunes under his breath. He has only the vaguest shape of an idea for now — no concrete details, but he's extraordinarily determined that <em> something </em>will change during this holiday season. This time, his gift won't tread the careful line between sentimental and romantic. He doesn't want there to be any mistake. Patrick still isn't brave enough yet to use his own words, but he's planning to use somebody else's.</p><p>Patrick still hasn't decided which song to play, but he can picture the expression he hopes it will put on David's face in near-photographic detail. That scrunched-up smile where he twists his lips in a vain attempt to hide his joy. Those dark and sparkling eyes that shine with all of it anyway. Heart pinned to his fuzzy sweater sleeve, there for anyone who takes the time to look.</p><p>Unfortunately, imagination is all Patrick is likely to get, because if the last six months have taught him anything, it's how frightened David can be by open displays of affection. Patrick might dream of pouring out his soul in tender acoustic murmuring, warm and bold and honest under the bright light of a stage, but neither he nor David is ready for that, not yet. He will record the song, and let David listen to it on his own time. Somewhere far away, somewhere private. Both so David won't have to crumple his emotions up before they come spilling out — and so Patrick can preserve the fantasy just a little longer, if David chooses to reject him. At least this way, David will have time to figure out how to let him down easy.</p><p>"I call you when I need you and my heart's on fire," Patrick sings softly. Then he shakes his head. Too much. Too real. Too soon.</p><p>If Patrick ever wants to get to a place where he could sing that to David, sing it out loud to convince David how much somebody can care for him — he has to get this right.</p><p>Patrick picks up his phone again, slips in his earbuds, and presses Play.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>They're in Patrick's car, and they have been for a while. David is slouched in the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone, and his grumbling no longer forms full sentences. Just sentence fragments like "not enough snacks" and "how many cows..."</p><p>Patrick's half-listening to the radio, tapping his left foot to the beat, and half-listening to David — more for the cranky sounds he's making than the content. Patrick should not find them as cute as he does. He shouldn't. But he is, as ever, endlessly amused by even a David Rose in terrible spirits.</p><p>"Could you remind me why we're both going on the longest vendor trip ever?" David asks, rousing himself from his sulk for a brief moment. "By which I mean, why couldn't one of us have stayed behind to do... I don't know." He wiggles his fingers. "Inventory or something."</p><p>"Oh?" Patrick glances over at David, hiding his smile. "And which of us would you have in mind for that task?"</p><p>"Me, obviously," mumbles David, shifting in his seat. "Because it's harder for me to get the family car for this amount of time."</p><p>"Don't worry — I would have let you borrow my car."</p><p>David makes a face that tells Patrick exactly what he thinks of that option. "I don't think <em> that </em>would have been necessary."</p><p>"So you're saying," Patrick pauses for a moment, "that if I left you at the store by yourself, you would have done the inventory I keep asking you to do?"</p><p>David squints suspiciously at Patrick, like he knows Patrick is luring him into a trap but can't quite reason his way out of it. "If I didn't have to listen to country radio for two hours, then... yes. I suppose I might have been amenable to that."</p><p>"Ah." Patrick nods and files that tidbit away for future ammunition. "Unfortunately for the inventory, Mrs Cavanaugh is, and I quote, 'enchanted' by your fashion sense, and you need me for the contract details. So here we are."</p><p>Patrick pats David on the leg consolingly, feeling the heat of his thigh through the thin material of his skinny jeans. And if his touch lingers a bit longer than it strictly needs to, well — David doesn't seem to notice. Returning his hands to the wheel, Patrick tries to act casual.</p><p>David smooths out the front of his sweater, looking down at it with a critical eye. "I wish you'd told me why she liked me so much <em> before </em> I left the motel this morning. I have a Givenchy outfit I think she would really appreciate."</p><p>"David," Patrick says, clearing his throat and keeping his eyes on the road in case they reveal too much, "you look incredible. I mean, you look good. You always look good. Um."</p><p>When David speaks, Patrick can hear the smile in his voice, even as he struggles to keep it off of his face. "Well, thank you. You look nice too."</p><p>"I thought you said this shirt was the fashion equivalent of plain oatmeal."</p><p>"I did," David says firmly, keeping his eyes trained on his phone. "But you make it work."</p><p>Patrick is, quite suddenly, at a loss for words. The warmth of a blush is prickling in his cheeks and up his neck, and he can only hope it isn't <em> too </em>obvious how much David's compliment has affected him.</p><p>"Well," he says, sounding somewhat strangled.</p><p>"So, in summary," David says, "I'm here to say nothing and look pretty." Patrick can't quite read his tone of voice. "I can do that."</p><p>Patrick taps the steering wheel with a finger. "I don't think that's true, David. You know our products better than anyone, including me. You're definitely the best person to explain how her flavored spreads fit into our," he glances at David, "store's 'aesthetic ambience.' If anything, I'm just the numbers guy."</p><p>He is gratified to see a small smile playing around the corners of David's mouth. </p><p>"Oh," David says softly. "Okay then."</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>With less than a week to go before Christmas, Patrick is getting anxious. He has scrawled out the chords for the song he's selected, and he knows exactly the way he wants to deliver the stripped-down rhythm and melody. He's even tried to record it a couple times, but he's never once been happy enough with the results to transfer the file to his laptop, where the rest of the songs he's selected sit waiting in his music library.</p><p>David has seemed oblivious to Patrick's nerves, he'd thought, but as they are standing together by the back door receiving a shipment of wool throws, David nudges him gently with his shoulder.</p><p>"Hey," he says in his special soft voice, the one that had so enchanted Patrick the second time they'd met. "Are you okay?"</p><p>"Me?" Patrick says, surprised. "I'm fine — why do you ask?" </p><p>Patrick doesn't like how easy it is to fake a smile. He guesses he did it often enough, with Rachel, and it only unsettles him further to realize it — he doesn't want his relationship with David to be like that one, on so many levels. He doesn't want to lie to David, but what is he supposed to say? <em> I'm planning to profess my feelings for you with a sappy love song on Christmas Day, and I'm terrified of ruining our friendship as well as our thriving business partnership? </em></p><p>"You're kind of quiet," David says. His dark eyes are liquid with concern, a rich chocolate color that damn near takes Patrick's breath away. "You didn't even make fun of my coffee order this morning — which, thank you for getting that, by the way."</p><p>He must be really worrying David, if David is thanking him. Patrick touches David lightly on his back, just a fleeting brush of fingertips. It's as close as he can get to what he wishes for, which is holding David in his arms and burying his face in that place in the crook of David's neck that looks like just the right height for him.</p><p>"I'm just a bit worried about Christmas," Patrick admits, trying to infuse his voice with enough authenticity to soothe David's anxiety. "I'm putting together a gift and I," he doesn't look at David, he doesn't look at David, "don't know whether the person is going to like it or not."</p><p>"Oh." David's eyebrows draw together — he looks genuinely mystified, and troubled on a level Patrick doesn't quite understand. "I see," he says slowly. "I don't know what you're planning, but let me reassure you my dad gives the worst gifts on the <em> planet </em>and," David twists his face up, "we haven't excommunicated him from the family yet."</p><p>"Thanks for the pep talk," Patrick says dryly, but he does feel reassured. Mostly because anyone with eyes can see how much David does love his father, terrible gifts and constant ridicule notwithstanding.</p><p>"Though," David says thoughtfully, "you do have terrible taste in clothes and," he jerks his head behind them, to the store, "picture frames, so maybe you need some input from someone with more of a keen eye." He wiggles his shoulders in a little shimmy, and Patrick hides a smile. "I could help, if you told me what it is."</p><p>"Oh," Patrick says. "Uh." His mind races frantically. "It's okay, it's less of an aesthetic thing and more of a... performance thing. So," he squints at David, "I appreciate the offer, but I've probably got to figure it out myself."</p><p>"Mm," David hums, still frowning. “I don’t know what that means, but... okay then."</p><p>The young man unloading the boxes of throws from the back of his truck says goodbye to them, climbs back into the cab, and drives away. David and Patrick stare at the boxes for a few seconds together in silence.</p><p>David says, sort of hopefully, "Do you want to carry the boxes inside?"</p><p>Patrick sighs, but he is no more capable of saying no to David now than he was six months ago when he helped set up the store before its opening. While David drifts back inside, Patrick walks over and hefts a box experimentally. They are not light.</p><p>He's only moved a few into the back room when he pauses, fingers going to the collar of his blue button-up. Despite the nipping edge to the December air outside, he is breaking a sweat, and the last thing he wants is to show up back in the store all drenched and disheveled. Not in front of someone as immaculately styled as David. </p><p>Patrick quickly strips his shirt off, leaving him in his thin white undershirt, and  lays it carefully on the desk inside. Then he returns to the boxes, glad that he's been lifting weights recently in addition to the long, contemplative hikes. It's possible that both of those activities have been motivated by David-related thoughts, but it's not like anyone could prove that.</p><p>As he's stacking the last of the boxes, Patrick hears an odd noise from behind him — a bit like an indrawn breath, or a quiet gasp. He turns to find David hovering in the doorway, eyes wide.</p><p>"Hi," David says, curiously subdued.</p><p>"Hey. Did you need something?" Patrick asks, bemused.</p><p>"Nope, no, I—" David waves his hands in front of himself in a negating gesture. "We're all good here, thanks."</p><p>Standing there, Patrick is abruptly self-conscious of his state of partial undress. He laces his fingers together, stretching out the tightness in his triceps, and raises his eyebrows at David. </p><p>David makes a small, choked noise and retreats again. Patrick looks after him for a moment before shrugging and returning to the boxes. If he waits too long, he'll stiffen up.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Christmas Eve sweeps in dark and blustery, a damp wind whipping past the edges of every building in town and dipping frigid fingers down coat collars. David put together a lovely hand-lettered sign announcing their intentions to close the store early, but for now there's yellow light glowing behind the wide expanse of their windows, welcoming in any last-minute holiday shoppers.</p><p>Patrick sits in his car for a few minutes. He squeezes the jewel case of the CD so hard its edges leave indents in his fingers, so hard he spares a moment to be concerned it might shatter. He's gone back and forth on every element of this — the stupid fluttery sensation in his chest encourages him to wrap the present up in the nicest paper he has, to press it into David's hands with a few heartfelt words that express all the mushy, sentimental ways he feels.</p><p>The more practical side of Patrick, which is admittedly most of him, suspects that would make David run for the hills. The trick is offering himself up without putting pressure on David to reciprocate — to show David he's here, ready to wait as long as David needs to be comfortable with the idea — that if David wants it, he's got it.</p><p>After an evening of anxiously pacing around his tiny room at Ray's, Patrick has decided the closest he can get to all that is an unwrapped CD with a shiny silver bow stuck on the corner. In his blocky, all-caps handwriting, Patrick has scrawled the track list on the back. The fourth track, the one he recorded himself, he has simply titled, "Christmas Surprise."</p><p>David is leaning over the counter when Patrick finally climbs out of his car and approaches the store. David’s elbows are propped up on the shiny wood as he stares off into the distance with a contemplative expression, and he’s so goddamn beautiful that Patrick's train of thought derails completely.</p><p>"Good morning," Patrick says as he comes in the door, not bothering to hide his surprise. "Who are you and what have you done with David Rose?"</p><p>David rolls his eyes. "This is what I get for coming to work early? Insults and mockery?"</p><p>"It's not really early if our hours are nine to five," Patrick says, but he lingers on the other side of the counter long enough to add, "but it's very impressive, David. For you."</p><p>"Okay, that's enough from you," David retorts. "Just for that, maybe I won't give you your Christmas present."</p><p>Patrick can't help it — he melts. "You got me a present?"</p><p>"Of course I got you a present." David looks at him like he's stupid. "You're my fr— business partner."</p><p>Patrick's next words stick in his throat, feeling as pointy and abrasive as one of those glittery star ornaments Twyla's hung all over the café. He's both of those things, true, but he wants more. He wants to be more.</p><p>"Unless that's weird, is it weird?" David asks, misreading Patrick's silence. His hand gestures increase their velocity as his anxiety kicks in. "You don't have to open it if you don't want to, I just thought—"</p><p>"David," Patrick says gently, taking David by the shoulders. "It was very nice of you to get me a gift. I got you something too."</p><p>Standing this close to David was a huge mistake. Patrick could lose himself in the depths of David's dark eyes, float away in a haze of that smoky cologne David wears. Without meaning to, his eyes fall to the plush bow of David's lips, and he sways a centimeter closer, the desire to taste them rising as fast and devastating as a flash flood, as hot and all-consuming as a forest fire.</p><p>"You did?" David says, and Patrick takes a second or two to remember what they were talking about.</p><p>"I did," he says, pulling back out of the danger zone. </p><p>An emotion flickers across David's face, there and gone too fast for Patrick to identify it.</p><p>Patrick reaches into his bag, fishing out the CD case and placing it on the counter between them. "I made you a mixtape," he says, and does his best to sound casual. "And um, there's a track on there that's, um. Special."</p><p>David's eyebrows speak a whole sentence by themselves, but all David says is, "Wow."</p><p>He should have given it to David before they went home for the day. How is he supposed to convince David not to listen to it before then?</p><p>"I don't think we have a CD player in here," David says thoughtfully, looking around. "But the motel definitely has one, 'cause everything in there's been sent through a time machine from the 1970's."</p><p>"I'm not sure they had CD players in the 1970's." Like that, Patrick supposes.</p><p>David waves the CD at him dismissively. "Whatever. You know what I mean."</p><p>"I do," Patrick says weakly. He's not quite up to his usual standard of banter with David, not about this.</p><p>David considers him for a moment, grumpy expression softening into something much more tender, much more affectionate. He holds the CD in both hands, delicately, like it is worth much more than its components of metal and plastic.</p><p>For the first time in weeks, Patrick allows himself to hope that maybe — just maybe — David feels a fraction of the same tumultuous attraction to Patrick as Patrick does to him.</p><p>"Anyway," David says, looking down with a little shake of his head, "I promise I will listen to this when I get home."</p><p>Patrick swallows nervously. "Okay."</p><p>David sets the CD on the counter and ducks underneath it for a moment, resurfacing with a box that is wrapped in shiny, dark blue paper. The corners are crisp and precise — David's handiwork, obviously — and he slides it across the counter in small, tentative nudges.</p><p>"This is for you," he says softly, mouth twisted up to one side.</p><p>Patrick sets one hand on it. "Thank you, David," he says. He doesn't mean to, but he fills those words with just a little bit of the enormous, honey-golden warmth in his chest. He can't help it.</p><p>David gives him a tiny smile in return, and it tastes like the first sip of hot cocoa on a winter day: rich and sweet, with a peppermint twist that lingers sharp and fresh on his tongue.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Ray has left for a Christmas party, bundled up in a maroon jacket so puffy that he cannot lower his arms all the way to his sides. He invited Patrick to come with him, in a tone so chipper and enthusiastic that Patrick felt a little guilty refusing — but refuse he did, even if his social plans mostly involve crawling under the covers with sweatpants, a hardcover novel, and a mug of tea.</p><p>It's the first Christmas Eve in a long time that he hasn't spent with his family, and Patrick carries a heavy melancholy inside him. It isn't regret — he knows by now that if he'd stayed he'd be drowning in wedding plans, flailing and floundering and wondering why every move he takes feels like walking underwater. But he's taking the time to allow himself a little sadness, even as he honors his new freedom and everything he's built here.</p><p>Because they closed the store early, Patrick is over a hundred pages into his book when he shambles downstairs to make another cup of tea. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, glancing over to the big wooden desk he used to share with Ray. He spent a lot of time there, in the first months of renting both business and living space from Ray, time which mostly blends together into blurry stacks of paperwork and soul-sucking spreadsheets. But it was honest work, and something Patrick was good at, and all monotony was eclipsed in one heart-stopping moment when the most beautiful man Patrick's ever seen walked in with perfectly styled hair and no clear idea of what he wanted to do with his business.</p><p>Besides, now the stacks of paperwork are for something Patrick truly cares about, and he really is very fond of spreadsheets.</p><p>Patrick flips the switch on the electric kettle and leans against the kitchen counter while he waits for the water to boil, realizing idly that he should have brought his book downstairs with him. While he is weighing the merits of going back up the stairs to grab it, he is rattled from his reverie by a furious knocking at the door.</p><p>Whoever it is pauses very briefly before resuming their flurry of knocks, a racket that would be more alarming if it had any weight behind it — and if they weren't in Schitt's Creek, where Patrick is pretty sure that a bicycle theft made front-page headlines in November.</p><p>Patrick cracks open the door and comes face to face with the very person who was just on his mind, and has been near-constantly these last few months. David looks slightly more disheveled than he usually does, his arms wrapped around himself and his face flushed with cold. He is wearing a soft black sweater bisected by a white lightning bolt, and a pair of high-tops entirely unsuitable for the damp winter weather.</p><p>"David!" Patrick exclaims.</p><p>"Can I come in?" David asks, voice coming close to cracking. His eyes are bright and wild, and he's hopping from foot to foot with a frenetic energy Patrick doesn't understand.</p><p>"Of course," Patrick says, bewildered.</p><p>"I texted you," David says as he brushes past, "but you didn't reply, and then I decided to just come over, since you're so close to the motel..."</p><p>"I left my phone upstairs," Patrick begins to explain, when he is thoroughly and completely silenced by David spinning around, pushing Patrick up against the door, and kissing him ferociously.</p><p>Patrick's knees nearly buckle, but he manages to stay upright as he grips at David's elbows, his sweater, his hips. Anything to cling to David just a little tighter, make this last just a little longer. David's full weight presses against Patrick, and Patrick makes a very undignified-sounding groan as the full thunderous wave of all those months of pining crashes through him, obliterating all rational thought.</p><p>It is a messy, hungry kiss, and Patrick is loathe to break it. He does have to breathe, however, and so he pulls back after a moment. Just far enough to look at David, slightly cross-eyed, and smile so wide his face hurts.</p><p>"Wow," David breathes, and Patrick will definitely be thinking about <em> that </em>performance review for several days to come.</p><p>"Merry Christmas," says Patrick, with fervor.</p><p>David makes an amused noise, bobbing his head in agreement. "I got your gift," he says, then rushes to explain. "I mean, I listened to it. The CD. And... and your song."</p><p>Patrick touches his lips with one hand in a bit of a daze. The fireworks bursting in his stomach make him wonder how he could have ever kissed a girl and thought that was all there was to life. Not when this was waiting for him in his future — this walking kaleidoscope of color and sound and beauty wrapped up in an anxious-looking monochrome package.</p><p>"You listened to it?" Patrick repeats, unable to do much else.</p><p>David fidgets. Says, "Yeah. And you— Patrick, why didn't I know you could sing?"</p><p>"I sing around the store sometimes," he objects.</p><p>"You hum, which is <em> not </em>the same thing." The pitch of David's voice is creeping upwards, but his hands are still draped on Patrick's shoulders, warm and heavy.</p><p>"I'm really glad you got my message," Patrick says quietly. "I wasn't sure I was ever going to get up the nerve for... this. So, uh, thank you for making that happen for us."</p><p>David kisses him again, eyes crinkled in delight. "Fortunately," he says, "I am a very generous person."</p><p>Patrick wraps his arms around David's waist, pulling him in, and does what he's been wanting to do for months — plants a kiss just under David's ear, along the long line of his neck. David shivers.</p><p>"I came right over after listening to your CD," David says. He looks a little pink, which could be light embarrassment, the cold from outside, or else the extremely agreeable activities he and Patrick have been engaged in. "I couldn't wait until after Christmas to see you."</p><p>"David," Patrick says, delighted. David looks at him expectantly, but Patrick meant it as a sentence in itself, a reverent thank-you and a delicious promise all in one.</p><p>"I'm really glad you came over," Patrick adds after a moment, and pulls David in again.</p><p>David hums his agreement, and goes enthusiastically.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos/comments are loved and appreciated! Bonus points if you spot the two references I threw in to Noah Reid's <i>Gemini</i> album.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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